


Hard to Say

by reillyblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Derek Hale, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Rough Sex, bisexual coming out, this one is short but sweet but what the hell I'll make it a few chapters instead of a one-shot, werewolf erectile dysfunction, wow what a fun tag THAT is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-01-31 13:38:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18592330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reillyblack/pseuds/reillyblack
Summary: Werewolf erectile dysfunction? Was that a Googleable thing?





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles actually falls out of his chair.

It's a thing he's done before because he lives in a real monster universe with real monsters that try to eat him once a month. But about 50% of the time it's just Scott jumping through his window and he feels like a fool.

It's not Scott. But it's not exactly cause for alarm, either.

"I can't believe you're still doing this to me," Stiles gripes from his place on the floor as the dark figure in his window smirks down at him. He looks so smooth and coordinated, crouching on the sill like that, and Stiles scowls back at him as he recovers painfully from his sprawl. "Would it kill you to wear anything other than black? May I suggest reflective neon yellow?"

"You scare easy."

"I have to scare easy so I stay alive, remember?" Stiles rolls his eyes as he stands and stretches out his butt muscles, which he landed pretty hard on.

"You've been gone for college too long -- things have cooled down around here. It's almost boring now." Derek tells him as he drops from the sill to the floor and crosses his arms over his chest in classic Derek pose.

"Well, I'm still a fragile human, and all it takes is one surprise creepy-crawly to kill me. Which is just what I need on spring break. Did you need something, or do you just enjoy scaring the shit out of me?" Stiles is sour now and he wants to relax in the comfort of his own bedroom without feeling like a wolf is going to tap him on the shoulder the moment he pulls up Pornhub for some alone time.

"So. You're back." The words feel stilted. Stiles blinks at him because Derek is looking uneasy, and Derek doesn't do uneasy very often. And when he does, it's usually for a very bad reason. But Stiles is going to be optimistic given his previous non-urgent smirking.

"Miss me?" Stiles smiles sardonically and Derek's lips tick up for a moment.

"Missed your research skills," Derek clarifies pointedly, shifting his weight in the dark room. The sun went down while Stiles was reading Buzzfeed articles, and he's probably been killing his eyes. He decides to turn on the lamp by his computer to get a better read on his shadowy intruder.

Derek definitely looks... uncomfortable. Stiles smells a favor in the air.

"I have mad Google skills, it's true. What do you need, Sourwolf?" Stiles gentles his prodding, predicting a sensitive topic mixed in with the favor.

"I could talk to Deaton, but... I don't think he will know." Derek shifts again before finally sinking down onto Stiles's bed to, somehow, look even more uncomfortable. Stiles is starting to feel alarmed now.

"Okay. I can try to help you, but you're going to need to actually tell me what the problem is."

"I'm not sure what the problem is. It's never been a problem before." Derek sighs and fidgets again, leaning back and then sitting forward and resting on his knees. He seems to settle there and still for a moment, staring at the floor. He closes his eyes and winces as he admits, "I'm having a difficult time... with attraction."

"O...kay." Stiles sits back in his desk chair, feeling stunned all the way down to his toes. "Uh, can you be more... specific?"

"I'm fine by myself," Derek says in that stilted, slow way. "It's just when I get around Braeden... I can't."

Stiles does not make a face. He tries very, very hard not to make a face because Derek Hale is in his bedroom talking about his problem with erectile dysfunction and expecting Stiles to be an empathetic person. Stiles is not going to laugh or something equally stupid. He is going to live up to Derek's unexpected trust in him.

He clears his throat to get any tickle of a laugh out of there before Derek can hear it.

"So. Okay. So, that kind of sounds like a Deaton thing, given the, uh, medical nature of that... symptom."

"It's not physical." Derek shakes his head and then glances at Stiles hurriedly before looking away again. Yeah, eye contact is weird right now, Stiles agrees. "It is, obviously, but that's not the reason behind it. It's a werewolf thing, I'm sure of it."

"Oh." Stiles scratches the back of his head, allowing himself to feel a wave of pity for the poor guy. This was every man's nightmare and Derek wasn't even thirty yet. "I hate to say it, but... are you sure it's not physical?"

"No, it's a werewolf problem. I just don't know what or why." Derek shakes his head again, sounding so certain that Stiles is inclined to believe him. "It's not exactly a topic my parents got around to teaching me, but I trust my instincts on this one."

And that stokes Stiles's pity flames more than anything. He forgets sometimes that Derek has not just one, but two dead parents. Nothing can quite sway Stiles like referencing deceased parents.

"I'll look into it," Stiles promises him. Derek looks at him again, briefly, and relief passes through his expression before his gaze settles determinedly on the floor.

"Thanks."

"Okay. So." Stiles swings around in his chair so he can talk to his computer instead of the awkward werewolf on his bed. "Are there... circumstances? I mean, you said you're fine when you're alone, but with Braeden... wait, I thought Braeden left for, like, Egypt or somewhere?"

"She's back in town for a few weeks." Derek shook his head. "It's happened...more than once. So it's not a coincidence. But there's nothing different about her, she smells the same, she looks the same. She's not a better or worse person. I'm not sure exactly what changed, but the wolf... won't."

"That sucks," Stiles blurts out. His fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting to type something but he's not sure what. _Werewolf erectile dysfunction?_ Was that a Googleable thing? He swivels in his chair to face Derek as a new idea occurs to him. "Have you tried with anyone else?"

Derek looks like he wishes he could not answer that question. He nods his head.

"So it's not just her, then? That will probably eliminate a whole host of possibilities." Then the implications hit him and Stiles gapes. "So you can't with _anyone_ right now?"

Derek glares at him. Stiles doesn't blame him.

"You get more than anyone I know, except maybe Scott."

"No, I don't."

"You are such a weird dude. Most guys would be puffing out their chests and agreeing enthusiastically with that statement." Stiles rolls his eyes a little. "Which is probably why you get so much game -- that self-pity vibe."

A growl tells him he's on thin ice. Stiles swivels in his chair again, rolling the problem around in his head. The more they talk about it, the more it becomes just an abstract puzzle for Stiles to solve rather than a conversation about Derek's junk. Which is probably how Stiles places his next question without a hint of embarrassment.

"And do you get, like, a semi? Or is your player just not in the game at all?"

Derek rolls his neck and pops something.

"Not in the game," he grits out.

"Strange." Stiles rubs his freshly shaved chin once more, feeling the smooth skin against his fingertips. Derek's eyes track the movement so Stiles stops. "I'll look into it, dude. See what the interwebs have to say. I'll tap some of the dark corners."

"I don't think I have to tell you, but..."

"It's between you and me, man. Got it. Not even Scott will know, I swear." Stiles crosses his heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles did not expect to spend his spring break researching erectile dysfunction in werewolves. It's more fun than he's supposed to admit, given his solemn vow not to talk about it.

He's taking a break at the moment from a near all-night research binge, lounging by the private Country Club pool with Lydia (his ticket into this ritzy place). It's warm for spring, a balmy 72 degrees, and Lydia is sunbathing in a pink polka dot bikini next to him.

Life is good. Except, it's extremely difficult to honor his bro code and not talk about his very interesting... project... with Lydia. Ultimately, he fails.

"Has anything... weird ever happened to you in all your sexual exploits with werewolves? Or, you know, to the werewolf?"

Lydia peers at him from behind her sunglasses, a smile pulling across her mouth slowly.

"Why don't you just ask your other half?"

"Because I want to hear your perspective."

"Or you're asking on behalf of him."

"Can you do me a solid favor and not ask me why I'm asking you this?" Stiles sighs, pretext dropping. He doesn't know why he ever even tries to be sneaky with her.

Lydia licks her lips and relaxes back on her reclined chair.

"Define 'weird'."

"Out of the ordinary."

"Are you asking me if werewolves have knots?"

Stiles is about to sip from the pina colada Lydia bought him from the bar, but he rethinks it when that question hits him.

"Those are a myth." He had spent a good portion of the previous night following that particular internet rabbit hole to its conclusion, much to his disappointment. Perks of being on sites that talk about werewolf sex -- he learned about all sorts of fascinating, unrelated things that may or may not be true. Downsides? It was hard to find credible sources.

"Are they?" Lydia's eyebrow lifts. Stiles stares at her.

"...Really?" Stiles whispers it he's so excited.

Lydia smirks again, and Stiles can tell she's closed her eyes under those giant, bug-eye sunglasses.

"You're so easy, Stiles."

"You know I'm a sucker for weird shit, Lyds. Don't tease me with that."

"What are you asking about really?"

"Have you been with a werewolf who had... problems? Maybe... like... couldn't get it up?"

Lydia examines him for a long time.

"I'm not allowed to ask who you're asking this for?"

"You're not."

Lydia purses her lips.

"That's not something boys like to explain out loud. They prefer to pretend it's not a thing and then ignore when it actually happens."

"So... it's happened?"

"I don't know, Stiles. Has it happened during sex? Sure, once or twice. Was that sex with a werewolf? I don't remember. I didn't commit that piece to memory."

"Hm." Stiles leans back on the chair, processing this information. He didn't have sex often enough himself to have much experience with not being able to get it up. But it sounds like it's common enough if Lydia's experienced it.

"Is this... for you?" Lydia says finally.

Stiles sits up and looks at her.

"What? I'm not a werewolf."

Lydia smiles again, but it's softer now.

"Someone you're with?"

Stiles kind of gapes at her, his mouth going dry.

"You're not allowed to ask questions, remember?" he answers finally. Lydia looks smug as she falls silent again.

 

* * *

 

 **To Derek:** _Want to come over for coffee and talk about your dick?_

Stiles snorts when he sends it. He thinks they're on the level of joking by this point, but then Derek never was much of a joker.

He forgets about Derek's non-response until something hits him hard in the back of the head.

"Be more discreet," Derek demands, fuming over his shoulder. "What if someone saw that text, dumbass?"

"Who's going to see it?" Stiles rubs the back of his head. "And if they did, why do you care?"

"I was looking at movie times on my phone. With Braeden," Derek seethes through clenched teeth.

Stiles's smile drops off.

"Oh shit."

"I hid it before she could see, but it was a weird thing to do. Don't make me regret asking you about this."

"Got it. Only at secure locations will we broach the subject. In person, no texting. Should we have a code word for public areas?"

Derek rolls his eyes sky high before he crosses his arm and lifts his eyebrow in a "So?" look.

"Let's get coffee and sit down. We're not animals." Derek just stares at him, so Stiles adds, "This could be a bit of a chat, so let's get comfortable. I don't like watching you mope on my bed in the dark."

Stiles makes them both coffee while Derek sits on the couch in the living room, not talking. When Stiles sets his coffee down on the table, Derek doesn't even look at it, he just fixes Stiles with that same expectant look. Stiles pointedly takes a long sip of his coffee before speaking.

"Before we launch into this, I just want to remind you that you are dead sexy and the functionality of your penis does not define you as a sexual being."

Derek looks ill, but after a long moment he nods stiffly.

"Right. Okay. So I need to engage in some process of elimination. Starting with -- drugs. Are you using any drugs or medications that could have this as a side effect?"

"I haven't been to the doctor since I was five."

"Right, but, like. Street drugs, too, that's a little known side effect of several popular --"

"No, Stiles. I'm not using drugs." Derek sighs and rubs his face. "Can we skip ahead to the things you actually think it could be?"

"Process of elimination! Leave no stone unturned, Derek, just bear with me here. It's going to lead to more confidence in our end diagnosis."

"Fine." Derek purses his lips together and raises one eyebrow.

"Next, if we rule out the physical, we can move on to the emotional or the supernatural."

"It's supernatural."

Stiles shakes his head.

"I posted your conundrum on the equivalent of Reddit for supernatural creatures, and a lot of the responses thought it could be either."

Derek's eyebrow goes higher.

"What's your relationship with Braeden like?"

Derek actually picks up his untouched coffee and takes a long sip before he responds.

"Fine. Normal."

"Okay, but wasn't she in Egypt for the past year? I thought you two were together? But then you said you had tried sleeping with someone else, so..." Stiles asks as carefully as he can.

"We were, we're not anymore," Derek answers shortly.

"What... happened?" Stiles asks cautiously.

"Nothing 'happened', we're fine. I wanted to come back to Beacon Hills, and Braeden doesn't like staying in one place for too long. I'm a werewolf. Beacon Hills is my territory. I don't like being away, but she's always on the move."

Honestly, that was more detail than Stiles was expecting.

"But now she's here. Visiting you."

"Right." Derek drinks again. "Which is, you know, not working out so well given this current issue."

"I see." Stiles had figured that was why Derek enlisted his help, because he wanted this solved in a timely way and he knew Stiles was like a dog with a bone if you gave him anything mysterious. "Thus the movie times."

"We're not big on talking," Derek answers shortly, moodily.

"Just canoodling." Stiles can't help himself. He smiles as Derek scowls at him.

"Sex, Stiles. _Fucking_. Say it like an adult or I'm not having this conversation with you."

Stiles is genuinely offended. He can use all the cute little euphemisms he wants, that doesn't make him less of an adult.

"Fucking." Stiles over pronounces it. "Intercourse. Sex. Happy? You're so crude."

Derek doesn't look happy. He looks startled. Then confused. He shifts on the couch, adjusting his hips. Stiles decides to ignore his weirdness.

"Okay. So there's nothing wrong with Braeden, you're just not together anymore."

"Correct."

Stiles considers his next words very carefully, nursing his coffee for a long moment before he opens his mouth again.

"This girl shared that werewolves hit kind of a second maturity point after puberty, much like humans, where they start, you know, yearning. For things. A whole bunch of other werewolves backed her up, so it sounds pretty valid."

"Yearning?" Derek says it like he's on a ledge looking down. Stiles probably should have picked up on that cue to not keep talking.

"You know, a family. Settling down. Taking a wife. Begetting offspring. Maybe you don't see Braeden as an option for that and it's turned the heat down on your physical relationship."

It's impossible to miss now -- Derek looks like Stiles just shoved a knife in his chest.

"It could be other things, too." Stiles hurries on. "Um, maybe you just don't like Braeden anymore? You keep saying she hasn't changed, but she doesn't have to change for your feelings to change. Maybe _you've_ changed. Like maybe --"

"Like maybe I don't want to beget offspring with her?" Derek sounds... not okay. He is also not looking okay. He is looking very not okay. "Or with anyone else who's not marriage material?"

"Hey, this isn't -- I mean, it could be plenty of other things." Stiles races through the other options in his head. "It's possible your tastes have gotten more exotic. You know? Like, vanilla sex isn't doing it for you anymore. Only hardcore BDSM can get you riled now, or watersports! Or, a slightly more likely possibility, there are certain shampoos that have ingredients that are the opposite of sexy for some werewolves. But it doesn't smell bad, necessarily, which can be confusing for a lot of werewolves who start having performance trouble with their partner. Maybe Braeden changed her shampoo or soap to something that's really a turn off for your werewolf nose and you didn't realize it."

"No." Derek puts his coffee down. He looks pale.

"Hey, I didn't mean to..." Stiles starts, but he doesn't know how to end that sentence. Derek is clearly upset and Stiles did not plan on this reaction. He's far from a therapist -- he doesn't really know the meaning of "tact" -- but he has to try now, apparently. "Is it so bad, dude? Wanting that stuff? If it helps, just think of it as, like, a biological process. Nothing personal, just a stage werewolves go through."

"It's..." Derek kind of shifts his gaze to him before looking away. "Is there a way around this? If it's the... yearning thing?"

"I'll keep digging for solutions. Might be a way to ignore those, uh, urges. But humans get those feelings too, and some people never get married and have kids and they live perfectly happy lives! Just _wanting_ those things doesn't mean you _need_ them." Stiles can feel how every word he says is making Derek more and more depressed. But he can't stop talking because he needs to fix his colossal mistake of telling Derek the unguarded truth. "Okay. New topic: knots. Lydia says they're not a thing, but I'm pretty sure they are."

Derek blinks miserable eyes at him.

"What?"

"We're bros, right? We've had our moments. Remember when we double teamed pushing Isaac into the pool? I complimented his scarf to distract him while you shoved him from behind? And this could kind of be considered a bro moment. Point is, you can tell me the truth." 

Distraction is kind of working. Derek is looking more confused than miserable by the second.

"Knots?"

"Don't kill my hope. Don't you look confused by that."

"Is that some sort of weird porn thing?" Derek asks, and Stiles is delighted to see the ghost of a smile on the side of his mouth.

"It's a bump on your dick, dude, and it, like, locks you in--" Stiles makes helpful visuals with his hands.

"No, we don't get that." Derek cuts him off, watching his gestures. Stiles drops his hands and pretends to pout.

"Shit, really? Lydia had me hoping."

Derek stares Stiles like he has two heads but Derek didn't see the second head until that very second.

"Why were you hoping for that?"

Stiles gapes at him, his mouth working in the stunned silence.

"Uh... for science? Because it's some cool shit?" he settles on.

Derek is still staring at him like he's something fascinating. Stiles licks his lips nervously and takes a hasty sip of his coffee.

At least Derek's no longer miserable.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles doesn't know why this is so awkward, but it's _so awkward_.

Sitting down to lunch with Braeden, Derek, Scott, and Kira is bringing back memories of high school where Stiles was the perpetual third (or fifth) wheel in his tiny friend group. But it's more than just the third wheel syndrome -- Derek and Braeden aren't really looking at each other, and Stiles is hyper aware that is at least partially his fault.

Derek puts a heavy hand on Stiles's knee and Stiles realizes he's been jiggling it for the past ten minutes. Derek's eyebrows pull together in a deep frown, and he doesn't remove his hand for a long moment.

Right. Be cool.

"Egypt sounds fun and mysterious."

"Outside of the political upheaval and widespread economic depression, I guess," Braeden drawls, scoffing at Scott's dramatic lack of knowledge about anything outside of the United States. "The pyramids were cool. I may or may not have broken into a secret room that was off-limits to tourists."

"Speaking as someone who's seen The Mummy one too many times, you should not have done that," Stiles jumps into the conversation to try to avoid staring at Derek's lips. Which. Why is he staring at Derek's lips? Probably because Derek missed a spot shaving, right below his left nostril. It's small, but Stiles notices it when he looks closely. He stops noticing it because Derek notices him noticing it.

"What's new with you guys?" Braeden's smile is a bit tight. Derek hasn't been speaking a lot. Even though Derek generally doesn't talk much, Stiles still suspects that's why Braeden is upset. And now he's focusing on things that are none of his business again. Shit.

"Well, Scott's interning with Deaton at the vet clinic. I'm teaching sword arts to kids at a local dojo." Kira beams at Scott likes she's so proud of him. Stiles's chest starts to ache. He sips at his Pepsi, wondering if he's getting heartburn or something. "Things have been pretty quiet lately. We're just holding down the fort and trying to strengthen the pack so we can keep it peaceful if something pops up."

Stiles snorts into his pepsi and Scott gives him a look.

"Sorry. I just... realized I'm sitting in a steakhouse with a bunch of werewolves. I think I've been at college too long."

Everyone stares at him for a beat. 

"You okay?" Scott asks finally. "You're kind of twitchy."

"Um." Stiles swallows hard as his eyes catch on the -- "Monster? Over there. At the welcoming desk. Shit, that thing's huge."

"But why is it _here?_ " Derek sounds annoyed. The patrons nearest to the welcoming desk start screaming and leap up from their table. Their waitress isn't far behind them. Others are following suit in what's quickly turning into a panicked stampede in the relatively small restaurant. "Why is it _now_?"

"Is it just me or does that thing look... Egyptian?" Kira observes very astutely.

Stiles agrees completely. It's some kind of dog-headed giant, with huge, muscly arms. Its wearing a golden loincloth. He's pretty sure he's seen it on many a hieroglyph in video games before.

"Should have watched The Mummy  _before_ going into the secret room, Braeden," Stiles's jibe is lost under all the yelling and the crashing of chairs and tables to the floor. Scott is already in wolf-face and halfway out of their booth when the thing grabs a running dude and _melts_ him, seemingly just because he grabbed him.

The screaming gets louder.

"Nobody touch that thing! Stay out of its reach!" Scott tells them unnecessarily. Kira apparently has learned to bring both a sword and a crossbow even to lunch, and now Stiles knows why her purse is huge and bizarrely shaped. Braeden is very calm and also has a sturdy-looking weapon in her hands.

"What did you take?" Stiles asks her.

"What?" Braeden looks like she'd rather ignore him, her eyes trained on the giant dog-man as it slowly but surely crashes toward them.

"What did you take from that room?" Stiles grabs her arm and shakes her attention back to him because he _has_ seen The Mummy (all of them, actually, even the bad one) and he knows how this shit works.

Braeden immediately looks guilty.

Half a second later, Stiles is inverted and watching the floor move along below him as someone carries him away from all the screaming. At first he irrationally thinks the monster has him, but he's still got the thing in his sights and it's getting farther away.

"What the hell!" Stiles demands, though Derek's shoulder hits him in the stomach just after and he loses any further ability to talk. They don't stop until they're at the bathroom and Derek is shoving him inside. The only other exit is blocked with a steady stream of exiting patrons.

"Stay there. Don't get yourself melted," he warns him with a pointed finger before he turns to leave. Then someone shouts and Derek changes course and ducks into the bathroom with him, closing the door and locking it. It's cute, really -- as if the monster will knock and find another bathroom if this one's occupied.

"It's coming this way,  isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Think it can get through that door?" It looks much narrower than the width of the dog-thing.

"It could blast through the wall if it's strong enough, which it seems to be."

Stiles glares at Derek.

"Did you make it think I was some precious thing by guarding me and getting me out of there? Is it after me now?"

Derek takes a moment to answer him.

"Possibly."

"Fuck, Derek, Kira had an extra crossbow I could have used," Stiles seethes, looking around the tiny bathroom. They're cornered in here, and the brick and concrete wall behind him is not something Derek can blast through before this thing arrives. "The others aren't having much luck?"

"Seems impenetrable. But no one else was melted when I looked."

**THUMP**

Stiles's heart is in his throat. They are ten seconds or less away from breaking that "no one else is melted" record, clearly.

"Come on," Derek drags him into a metal stall and locks that door behind them too. Then he pulls Stiles tight against his chest so they're as far from the door, and the creature's potential grasping hands, as possible.

It's suspiciously quiet outside now, but Stiles's heart is hammering in his throat. They are _so_ about to get melted. At least he got partway through college. At least he's not a virgin. At least --

Something hard is pressing up against him. Stiles thinks at first that it's Derek's thigh, but it's narrower than that --

**THUMP**

Stiles stops all thoughts other than _how the fuck do we survive this_ , but no answers spring to mind. He's literally just got a wallet and a condom in his pocket. Why he thought he would need that form of protection and not other forms of protection in Beacon freaking Hills, he doesn't know. He should carry around a purse with a sword and crossbow inside like Kira, that is a smart thing he should start doing. Or at least some cool hidden knife contraption he can activate with a flick of his wrist; the kind he was looking at on Amazon not one week earlier, before he left the safety of his dorm to return to this godforsaken town.

Also, that is definitely Derek's dick against his ass right now.

And it seems to be working just fine.

"Okay guys, we got him!" comes the muffled voice of the blessed battle angel Kira. Stiles lets out a shaky breath of relief, his entire body coursing with adrenaline and fear and -- yes, that is Derek's dick. Fuck. Right up against him, pressing even harder now against Stiles's right cheek.

A sound comes out of Stiles's mouth that he does not remember ever making before. It's somewhere between a sigh and a moan.

The arm around his chest tightens instead of loosening. He feels Derek's shuddering breath against his neck, his nose against the back of his ear. Stiles's head is spinning now because too many unbelievable things are happening all at once. He tries to take a deep breath, but that same sound comes out again when he shifts and feels Derek's dick move against him too, just one tiny, aborted thrust that was probably a complete accident on Derek's part.

Then Stiles is being pushed away, stumbling a little at the force of it, and when he turns to face Derek he's moving gingerly around him to open the door, pointedly not looking him in the eyes.

 Stiles takes a moment before he follows him, breathing hard, his hands shaking with a mixture of fear and excitement.

Kira is waiting outside the bathroom door, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

"You called it. Braeden stole something. Once it had it back, it just poofed."

"We're lucky it didn't kill us all as punishment," Stiles breathes in relief. 

"Yeah, all my darts kept bouncing off of it. Scott's claws did nothing. That thing was tough."

"Missed you and your brain, Stiles." Scott's got him in a friendly headlock, but Stiles pulls out of it. He's still breathing hard, and he need space. He's more... excited than he wants Scott to notice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am lurking around every fanfic corner with a Surprise Bisexual trope ready.

"It's called Anubis, and it's the god of embalming and death. Braeden," Stiles adds her name at the end and she barely even winces. "The god of _freaking_ death. What did you take?"

"A knife. It looked powerful." Braeden shrugs. "I guess it was."

"I want Scout's honor that you will no longer pillage ancient tombs. For all our sake's," Stiles demands from her. Scott looks at Kira, and Lydia and makes a shooing gesture at Stiles to get on with it. Derek is not looking at him, which he has done all. Night. Long.

"Anyway, as the god of death, it could kill us all with a touch, as you saw. It could liquidate us or turn us to dust. Just like that poor, innocent red shirt. So let's never do that again. Braeden," Stiles adds again, pointedly. "Agreed?"

"Jesus." Braeden rolls her eyes in a Derek-like way. Stiles is irked by the similarity. "Alright. Agreed."

Stiles did some research on the thing that charged them down in the restaurant because Scott asked for it. But he can barely focus on his report because Derek is acting so bizarre. He was the one who offered his apartment for the pack meeting in the first place. He'd opened the door for them, set out beers. Then he totally zoned out and avoided Stiles's eyes, too obvious to be imagined.

"Do you think it will be back?" Scott asks the important questions and pulls Stiles out of his brooding.

"I doubt it. It was more of a search-and-retrieve mission, from what I can tell. It doesn't seem to have a history of seeking vengeance, lucky for us." Stiles, again, side-eyes Braeden, who huffs at him.

"What, Stiles, you want a written apology?"

"Maybe," Stiles shoots back. "You dont seem all that contrite. Derek and I almost died in that bathroom."

"Stiles." Derek shakes his head. Stiles stares at him. Now the dude decides to come alive to defend his not-girlfriend? The nerve.

"Are you not pissed we almost died?" Stiles asks, incredulous.

Derek at least emotes at that comment, his ears turning noticeably pink when he (finally) returns Stiles's glare.

"Drop it. It's done. We've been through a lot worse."

"Yeah. I guess I'm just rusty on the almost dying since I've been away so long." Stiles throws up his hands and sits down on the couch next to Scott, who pats him on the back. "Apparently that's no longer worth getting upset about." Clearly this pack needs a good scolding from an outsider. They've gotten messy and soft in his absence.

"Alright, let's cut the shop talk and switch to pack bonding time." Scott tries to break the tension with a puppy smile. "Charades, anyone?"

Charades is a terrible idea, but Scott, Kira, Lydia, and Braeden carry the conversation while Stiles mopes and Derek zones back out. Nobody notices Derek's not talking because that's kind of his default, but Stiles does. Scott and Lydia keep giving Stiles little looks to guilt him on his own silence. Stiles ignores them and continues moping.

He can't help it -- he's pissed. What's become of this pack in his absence? More concerned with charades than strategizing staying alive. Had they gotten too arrogant? Also, what the _hell_ is Derek's problem?

Thankfully, they throw in the towel early and Kira piles everyone even slightly tipsy into her car. Stiles drove his jeep and had one beer, so he waves goodbye to them in the parking lot. He hovers at the door of his jeep before he looks back up at Derek's apartment building.

He doesn't even have to knock on the door, Derek opens it when he gets close to it. He looks tense and withdrawn, and Stiles still doesn't get why.

"You and I need to have words."

Derek's face does a weird twitch. The temperature drops with each second of silence.

"We do?"

"Yeah."

Derek hesitates at the door, so Stiles shoulders his way in and shuts it pointedly behind them.

"What the fuck was that bathroom shit all about?"

Derek's eyes widen and his face goes white. He seems to freeze up instead of arming himself with the broody defensiveness Stiles was expecting. But Stiles has words to say, so he says them.

"I don't need to be princess-carried from battle scenes, number one. Kira had an extra weapon that I'm perfectly capable of using, which you would have seen if you'd done a quick scan of your pack. If I, a mere mortal, had time to do it, you did too. I don't even know what you were thinking. Also! How could you trap us like that? The last thing I want in a fight is to be dumped in a room with no exits. Understood? This is basic, Derek."

Oddly, Derek seems to relax at the scolding. His face recolors somewhat and he nods his head.

"You're right. It put both of us in more danger."

Stiles is thrown. He can't remember the last time Derek admitted fault to him instead of snarling back.

"Damn straight." Stiles clears his throat to cover his surprise. "Use your head next time."

Derek nods again, and Stiles is pretty sure the world is ending. Is Derek seriously absorbing his scornful advice without a hint of biting back?

"Good." Stiles crosses and uncrosses his arms, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. "Great. Well. That's settled."

He was expecting a fight, which is why he waited until the forced pack cuddling ended. With the distinct absence of a fight, Stiles isn't sure what to do. Leave? He doesn't want to, but he also doesn't know why he doesn't want to.

Derek arches an eyebrow, watching Stiles's restless fidgeting, clearly more comfortable with the sudden silence than Stiles. Stiles tries a final glare, but the heat's gone from his chest, replaced with something else -- something tingly and tinged with anxiety.

"So should we talk about..." Stiles's mouth is moving on its own. It does that sometimes when it gets too quiet, and it never ends well.

Derek looks decidedly uncomfortable again.

"I mean, congratulations." Stiles coughs, his throat tight, before he keeps going. "It's working again! Right? A little, uh, strangely timed, but still."

"Oh," Derek breathes as the color drains from his face once more. "That."

"It's good, right?"

"Are you... seriously..." Derek struggles under an invisible burden while Stiles smirks, happy the tables have turned again in his favor.

"Okay, I won't tease you. But I'm happy for you, man. Problem solved. And not even for someone you want to marry!"

Derek's face, if possible, goes whiter. It's altogether too much discomfort for a friendly, bro-level conversation.

"...Right?" Stiles tries again. All he gets back is deer-in-headlights panic, which is such an overreaction to the mild discomfort of discussing erections with friends. As Derek's silence stretches, a new thought pops into his head, an intrusive one that didn't occur to him before. "Wait."

Oh. _Shit._

 _"Right,_ Derek?" Stiles asks again, feeling panicked himself now.

Derek's eyes dart to the nearest exit, and Stiles's panic edges with annoyance.

"Seriously, you're thinking of bolting? Now?" Stiles's mouth is going again. He should really stop it, but his thoughts are a white haze of _what_ right now. "Okay, just so we're clear here, was the... _solution_ just random, or our mortal peril, or, me?"

Derek doesn't say anything verbally, but his expression telegraphs the answer clearly. Stiles absorbs the knowledge that Derek Hale is into him without even a glass of water and a fainting couch, which seems unfair and is probably why his mouth is off running again in the next second.

"I didn't even know you digged dudes, let alone... um... me. Which, I never thought about before, so I'm caught off guard, I guess? That's a lie actually, that I never thought about it before. But the context for me thinking about it was more about, you know, my own gratification, rather than any actual pondering about your sexual identity."

It's like Stiles has punched himself in the stomach as the implications of what he just said settle between them. _Shit_. Shit shit shit. But Derek's not eyeing the door anymore, he's eyeing Stiles. Derek's gaze slides from Stiles's eyes to his lips and Stiles is frozen in place both physically and mentally.

The moment seems to last for far too long. Derek's gaze drifts back up to Stiles's, catching on whatever he sees there. In response, Stiles's entire body goes from low-key tingling to high-key, unmistakable arousal.

"So you've... thought about it." Derek asks, his voice suddenly raspy.

"Yeah, I mean. Yeah. You're..." Stiles gestures helplessly at him. Stiles is way too hot and his hand is shaking. "You know."

"Not really."

"I guess, over the years..." Stiles shrugs and gestures wordlessly again. Derek seems to need to hear the words, so Stiles chokes out, "You're hard to not think about."

Derek takes a slow breath, like he's recovering from what Stiles just said, and Stiles isn't prepared for the sudden vulnerability that unfurls in Derek's expression. Stiles closes his eyes, disoriented by how quickly this moved from an almost-fight to a gentle teasing to an admission from both of them. What's happening here, exactly?

He jumps at the feel of Derek's hand gently landing on his forearm. When he opens his eyes again, Derek's stormy expression is just as confused as Stiles feels. They both seem to labor under the bizarre tension between them for a moment before Stiles thinks _fuck it_ and takes a deliberate step toward Derek, bringing them so close their faces are inches apart. He doesn't think beyond the _fuck it_ , but that little movement from him seems to break Derek's hesitation.

Body warmth envelops Stiles as he feels lips against his and automatically closes his eyes. His stomach is dropping and his heart is leaping, but he doesn't break contact as Derek's hands gently, slowly smooth down his forearms and slip around his waist, pulling him flush against a strong body.

So, it's definitely not just life-threatening situations that fix Derek's little problem.

Stiles moans, delirious at that thought, and Derek gets rougher immediately, gripping at the soft cotton of Stiles's t-shirt. The rough grab is electrocuting, and another moan is wrenched from Stiles's lips as he stumbles even closer, wrapping his arms around Derek's broad, hard shoulders and pressing into the wet heat of his mouth. Tongues and bodies slide together and everything is a blissful haze of heat as they seem to exhale into one and inhale into the other.

Derek huffs out a sound as he draws back and leans his forehead against Stiles's, trembling with heavy breaths. Neither of them pulls away, but Derek's hands quiet against Stiles's skin, right at his waist.

Stiles swallows a massive lump of fear as he gets his bearings and realizes the position they're in. He doesn't know what they're doing. He doesn't know what he's feeling, other than scared and confused and exhilarated. Derek looks just as unsure as he did seconds before he kissed him, but the air around them is hot now, _expectant,_ and lightning sparks up Stiles's spine at every little movement of Derek's hips or hands against him.

They lock eyes for just a moment, but it's enough to spur a madness in Stiles and he forgets all attempts to understand what's happening. He lurches forward, unthinking, and kisses Derek again. Excitement buries his fear -- but it's not gone. It adds an edge to every little touch, coming with more certainty and frequency now as they gasp and rub against each other.

The next thing he knows, Derek's warm hands are sliding just under the waist of his jeans and he's chasing Derek's mouth as he pulls back again.

"Tell me to stop," Derek kisses him softly and Stiles's body hums with pleasure. "...if you don't want it. If you want to slow down. Okay?"

Stiles nods frantically, focused on nothing but keeping Derek's hands and lips on him. He's practically climbing Derek's ridiculously hard body now, so he's beyond pleased when Derek resumes kissing him and stops saying very sweet nonsense with his mouth.

Derek's hands slide down over the curves of his ass, grasping him firmly and squeezing slowly, like he wants to feel every inch of Stiles's skin. Stiles gets a little lost in it, falling off their kiss and leaning against Derek's shoulder as Derek caresses him again, pulling his cheeks apart now and sliding between them with one hand. Stiles gasps when he feels Derek's fingers against his pucker, and all of this goes from a hazy dream to reality.

Stiles clutches harder at Derek's shoulders as Derek bites at the shell of his ear and circles with a finger, pressing.

He wants inside, Stiles realizes. Derek wants to be inside him.

The realization tilts the world upside down, and Stiles is struck with a want so powerful his toes curl. He pushes back against Derek's finger, and it slips in, just the tip. Stiles hisses at the dry pain, but it's exhilarating at the same time.

Stiles slips a hand down into Derek's pants, too. He threads his fingers through the thick hair until he finds stiff, hot skin. Derek shudders and pulses once under his fingers as Stiles takes him in hand.

With a savage sound, Derek roughly grabs Stiles's waist and backs them both up until Stiles hits something, he doesn't know what. Before he can get his bearings, he's lifted and placed on a solid surface. Disoriented, Stiles refocuses when Derek thrusts up into his grip, slick with precum. He briefly registers that Derek is uncut, the foreskin sliding smoothly under his fingers as Derek ruts into him. Stiles groans, tightening his fist and pressing down when Derek pushes up, spreading his thighs and letting Derek arrange them so Stiles's fist is nestled close to his body and next to his own erection. Now, with Derek thrusting between his thighs like this, it's a simulation Stiles can barely handle.

"Okay," Stiles pants, feeling dizzy. Derek grips his hips harder, but he gentles his thrusts. "Okay. Okay..."

Derek, with obvious effort, pulls back, running his hands from Stiles's hips up to his shoulders, a sweet caress that grounds him. Stiles is so turned on he can barely form words. Like he can't help it, Derek kisses Stiles's lips briefly, licking in gently and making Stiles's head spin again.

"So you... um, we..." It feels like Stiles is swallowing his own tongue, so he shakes his head a little to focus and then tries again."You want to do this. With. With me."

"Yes." Derek sounds very certain of that. It's weirdly comforting. His dick pulses in Stiles's hands and Stiles gazes into his pale eyes, alight with a beautiful sort of fire. "I thought we were already doing it."

"Yeah, we. I just want." Stiles swallows again, his hands roaming and restless, squeezing Derek's bicep -- which is _ridiculous_ \-- before trailing down his sides to his solid waist, ribboned with even more muscle. "I want you inside me."

Derek's lips part and Stiles watches the subtle reaction that ripples through him at those words.

"I've never been with a girl who liked that. It can really hurt."

"I'm not a girl."

"Stiles, this is more than enough. I didn't mean to push you --"

"Oh my god, why is it so hot when you argue with me?" Stiles moans, cutting him off. Derek just stares at him, stunned by that admission, so Stiles plows on, "You didn't, I swear. I just want it so bad I can barely breathe." Stiles squeezes Derek as uncertainty cascades through him. Derek just confirmed for him that they're both fresh out of the gay floodgates, so it might be too much for Derek. Maybe he's just saying he doesn't want to push Stiles because he actually doesn't want to go any further with him.

But then Derek grips him harder and puts his lips to Stiles's ears, his words hushed and promising.

"I want it too. I want you so much."

Stiles basks in it. A warm glow, separate from the shivering heat of arousal in his body, fills up his chest at those words. Derek wants _him._

"I can take it, I promise." The words bubble out of him from low in his belly, sizzling with want. Unease mingles with that sizzling want as soon as he's said it. He's _not_ sure he can take it, but he's sure as hell going to try.

"Okay, okay," Derek soothes him, mouthing his jaw with a warm kiss before wrapping his arms under Stiles's knees and tilting him back, pressing their groins together. They're fully clothed and Stiles is not okay with it, but Derek is slowly thrusting up against Stiles's erection and he's distracted by it. "Like that?"

Stiles nods, gripping Derek's shoulders as Derek continues to tease him with slow grinds against Stiles's iron-hard erection. But Stiles's underwear is a mess of precum, reminding him to shove, if ineffectively, at his pants and underwear. Derek lifts him for a moment so he can get the pants down and off him, stripping his clothes off in less than a second before cleanly dropping his own pants.

Stiles takes a moment to stare at him, his mouth filling with saliva at the sight of Derek's heavy cock.

Stiles has felt what's under Derek's shirt, and he desperately wants to see it now while they do this. He insists on pulling Derek's shirt over his head, getting all that delicious muscle out in the open, before he lets Derek back between his thighs to rut against him skin-to-skin.

They writhe in a sweaty silence, so eager to feel cock against cock that they both forget anything but the slide of their erections on one another. Stiles only becomes aware that he's perched on the kitchen counter when Derek reaches above them, rummages, and pulls down a bottle of something.

Stiles grins breathlessly when Derek drizzles oil on his fingers, making a mess on the counter next to him, and then takes them both back in hand. This time the slide is utterly smooth, dirty and hot as they grind together in Derek's fist. He squeezes them on the upstroke as their rhythms sync together effortlessly, pulling an eager groan from Stiles's throat. The sounds they make are decadent, soft grunts and throaty moans that spike their arousal higher.

"Derek," Stiles whines, gripping Derek's hips and guiding his rocking into something slower. "C'mon, before I come all over you and embarrass myself."

"Stiles..." Derek barely pauses, but a slight smirk sneaks onto his lips. "I'm sure you've got a second round in you."

And that hits Stiles strangely. He realizes the root of his desperation is a worry this will be a one-time thing, that Derek won't touch him again after this. But there's another reason, more insistent: the repeating, singular idea of Derek penetrating his body, hot and hard inside of him. It drives Stiles a little crazy, and turns him on beyond reason.

"You are so gorgeous you're going to kill me," Stiles babbles, his eyes glued to the impossible cut of Derek's abs, the perfect curve of the muscle lining his hipbones. Derek actually stops grinding into him, a breathless, halting smile sweeping through him before he looks away from Stiles's gaze as though he's shy. They're naked and rubbing against each other, but Stiles calling Derek "gorgeous" makes him _shy_.

"How do we do this?" Stiles veers back onto his original track. "I don't know what I'm doing." It's too honest, but Derek doesn't react in the way Stiles immediately fears.

No, Derek drops a kiss to his shoulder, meeting Stiles's eyes in a way that's still somewhat shy. Then he shifts them so it's just Stiles's cock in Derek's hand. He fondles him slower than before, and it feels more like foreplay, like the beginning of something else. He rubs up the shaft to circle the head, massaging twice before he trails back down, tantalizing. Then lower, rolling Stiles's balls in his hands before he caresses his taint.

Stiles is hyperventilating now, the anticipation too much. Derek tilts him back on the kitchen counter so he has better access to what he's angling for, resting Stiles's shoulders against the bottom of a cabinet. It's not comfortable, exactly, but Stiles is not about to stop and relocate them for anything. If they stop, Stiles isn't entirely sure they will start again. It's like they're caught in a magical realm where time is suspended and he isn't Stiles Stilinski who had been secretly -- secret even to himself -- pining over Derek Hale for years upon aching years. He's Stiles Stilinski, someone Derek _wants_.

Stiles's head hits the cabinet with a soft thud when Derek breaches him.

"Jesus," Derek whispers.

"Please ignore me," Stiles begs, catching his ankles behind Derek's waist to keep him close and focused.

"Not a chance," Derek promises him throatily. Stiles shudders as the finger in him plunges deeper, gliding in much more smoothly than when Derek dipped the tip in without oil. It aches, but it's not unbearable. Before he realizes it, it's all the way in, Derek's knuckles bottoming out against the swell of his ass.

Derek's watching him too closely, brushing his lips against Stiles's jaw while Stiles tries to get his breathing under control.

"That's it," Stiles pants, luxuriating in the pressure as Derek thrusts into him carefully once, then twice. It's completely different than what he's used too -- being on the penetrating, rather than the receiving side. But he fucking loves it. "Get in me, c'mon. Wanna feel you for real."

There's a slight tremble in Derek's fingers as he circles Stiles's rim once more. Stiles opens his eyes to see a hint of nerves in Derek's expression, mingling with clear arousal. Stiles had been thinking mostly about himself, but now that he's thinking in Derek's shoes he can imagine how he would worry about hurting his partner. Derek's hands are so gentle on Stiles's cheeks as he holds Stiles open.

"I'm ready," Stiles reassures him again, more earnestly. Derek nods, not meeting his eyes, and takes himself in hand to line up. A soft, blunt pressure starts that quickly grows into a burning pain. Stiles clenches his teeth, bearing it with the exhilarating thought that Derek is really fucking him.

It's slow and agonizing at first, Stiles's erection wilting from the pain. Turns out he _wasn't_ ready, but he's determined to be. Derek intuitively adds more lube halfway in, a slippery mess that drips all over both their thighs, and Stiles bites Derek's shoulder to hide the pain he's sure he's telegraphing.

He doesn't tell him to stop because despite it all, he doesn't want it to stop. The burning dulls when Derek pauses, fully seated inside him, and nuzzles his ear, his hair, biting little marks down his neck in response to Stiles's own bites.

"Baby..." Stiles jolts at that, slow to realize that _he's_ "baby" even though there's no one else in the room Derek could possibly be talking to. That warm glow in Stiles's chest grows. "You doing okay?"

Stiles nods instead of speaking, but Derek wisely doesn't move, giving Stiles more time to adjust while he just holds him. Stiles sinks into the heat of Derek's firm body, draping himself over Derek's shoulders and adjusting his hips until the pain dulls to just an undercurrent of the pleasing pressure. When Derek does pull out, the oil spreads where it's supposed to be as he pushes back in, so slowly Stiles feels a different kind of agony.

Derek grunts as Stiles digs his heels into his back, grabbing him roughly as he presses in deeper, firmer. Stiles gasps at the feel of him insistently entering his body, and Derek trembles, his pace still controlled, but bottoming out easier now.

The burn continues, but the building rhythm in Derek's thrusts activates some primitive instinct in Stiles and his pleasure only grows, starting to eclipse thoughts about the pain. 

Then it's suddenly too much again. The burning crescendos as his rim is stretched even more, and Stiles cries out in displeasure when he looks down to see Derek's tried slipping in another finger alongside his dick. He quickly retracts it, watching Stiles as he does. Stiles tenses in his arms in the aching aftermath.

"Better?" Derek asks softly.

Strangely, it is. It hurt in the moment, but something crucial relaxed when Derek took his finger out. When Derek slides back into him it goes smoothly, easy. Stiles nods, relieved at how perfectly Derek sinks into him now. Like how it's supposed to be.

"That's it, Stiles," Derek sighs into his skin. "Open for me. Relax."

Stiles tries, leaning his head back again and just feeling the persistent slide of Derek's dick in his ass. Derek's coaxing words only turn him on more, and now he's got their rhythm so it's feeling good again. He can do this. He can have this. 

Derek catches on when moans start wrenching themselves from Stiles's lips; he ups his pace into a delicious tempo that's somehow perfect, not too much but not too little. And there's something more now, something that sings with pleasure when Derek hits just the right angle. Stiles loses track of time and space, focusing on that occasional note of pure pleasure, until Derek puts a hand on his dick and Stiles nearly comes in that moment.

"Stop-" Stiles warns him, lurching forward on a particularly good thrust. Derek's slow to respond, hitching one of Stiles's legs up into the crook of his arm and just spreading him more. 

"I want to feel you come. I'll keep fucking you, open and relaxed from it, until you come again." He leans forward and says the words into Stiles's gaping mouth. "Watch."

A hot hand on Stiles's nape presses Stiles until he's looking down at where Derek is disappearing into his body. He can't see how Derek is stretching him open at this angle, but he can see his own cock bobbing with each movement, leaking and shiny at the tip.

Then Derek hits that sweet spot again and it's all over. White threads of come spurt from him, landing in a mess on his stomach, and some on Derek's abdomen. 

As Stiles plummets into an explosive climax, Derek starts fucking him earnestly, taking advantage of his loose-limbed compliance to pound into him. Stiles gasps at the slapping of skin on skin, at the way Derek holds his hips absolute as he shoves into him. 

Even as he comes down from his orgasm, he's still miraculously hard. He can only lie there boneless and take it for a while, almost out of his mind with how much he wants Derek: the damp sweat on his brow, the salty taste of his neck, the way he can't seem to stop squeezing Stiles as he drills into him. 

"Feels good," Stiles mumbles, gripping the damp hair at Derek's neck. Derek kisses him in answer, open-mouthed, coaxing a moan from deep in him.

There's still something controlled about the smooth way Derek fucks him, restrained. Stiles wants to destroy it , make him as helpless as Stiles has become, but he's not sure he'll survive it.

Next time, he thinks deliriously as Derek hauls him tight up against his chest and pierces him deeper than before, getting so deep Stiles moans again, long and anguished. 

Derek gets sloppier at that, just for a second, before he seems to reign it back in.

"You going to come?" Stiles whispers, his voice hoarse.

"Only with you," Derek promises him. "You getting close?"

Stiles shoves a hand between their bodies, finding his hard cock and pumping it loosely. 

"Close."

Its fuzzier this time, the sensation duller than his first orgasm, but the feel of Derek pulsing in him right after Stiles tips over is priceless. 

Stiles watches, fascinated, as the tendons in Derek's neck flex, his expression tightening. That deep pulse in him drowns out other sensations, and it's just the two of them, in that moment. 

Then the moment's gone to the returning sounds of their panting, the feel of sweaty skin on more damp skin, and the beginnings of a cramp in his right thigh. 

The counter is cold when Stiles rocks forward onto it, disentangling his limbs from Derek's arms. Derek leans on the counter next to him, catching his breath, while Stiles slides slowly to the ground. 

They look at each other for a heart-stopping moment, the arousal bleeding away and leaving them with just their naked feelings.

Derek quietly takes a clean dishrag from the stove and cleans Stiles's stomach in deliberate strokes. It almost feels tender, and the activity fills the widening silence between them so Stiles is grateful. He doesn't do silence well.

"We didn't use a condom." Derek is the first one to break it, meticulously catching the last stray drops of come on Stiles's chest.

Once he says it, Stiles notices it, a slipperiness between his cheeks, a lingering pressure inside of him. Dazed, Stiles reaches between his thighs and feels at his opening to find it wet and dripping. 

"Here." Derek watches the gesture almost hungrily before he dips his own hand between Stiles's legs and dabs at him with the cloth. The fabric is rough and it makes Stiles tremble, especially when he feels a finger slip back in, briefly, stroking him once before withdrawing.

"How does it feel?" Derek's voice is low and rough. Stiles swallows.

"Wet."

Derek makes a sound that's poorly repressed.

"I meant, does it hurt?"

"Oh." Stiles shifts a little on his feet. He likes that Derek is still standing so close to him, the heat of his skin comforting. "Kind of sore, but it was totally worth it."

"Was it?" The question has a teasing edge. Stiles blinks up at Derek, trying to understand what he's feeling, where these next moments are going.

"Kind of addictive, actually," Stiles breathes, venturing a hand out to rest against Derek's pec. He swallows down butterflies before he says, "Want to do it again?"

"Not now." Derek covers Stiles's hand with his own, stroking along the tops of his fingers. Stiles's stomach plummets in an immediate and devastating disappointment that he works to keep off his face. But then Derek says, "Later. I don't want to hurt you more than I already have."

"Oh god, yeah. Yes. Okay," Stiles agrees immediately, relief flooding him. Derek looks at him strangely.

"You understand what this means for me, right?" Derek's words are hesitant, quiet. "You are the one who explained it to me."

Stiles mulls through that carelessly until he realizes what Derek's saying with an unpleasant jolt. 

"Oh. It worked."

"It did. No problems."

"So you... uh." It was a delicate subject before, but now it's a landmine. Stiles tends to step on landmines. Hes already stepped on this one before, actually. He forces his mouth to close, forces himself to wait for what Derek thinks. It takes a while, the silence deepening again.

"I think of you as... serious. My instincts are tuned in to you. You know what those instincts are." Derek strokes a shy finger along Stiles's hand again. "Does that scare you?"

Stiles thinks it probably should, but instead it feeds the lingering warm glow in his chest, which brightens to a sublimated happiness. 

"No."

It's honest, and Derek can hear that. He doesn't seem to know what to do with it for a minute, glancing at Stiles before his gaze darts away. Again, that surprising shyness, like Derek hasn't done this before. Stiles steps forward and wraps his arms around Derek's neck, breathing in the intoxicating smell of him. 

"I'll call my dad, tell him not to worry that I dont come home."

Derek's arms come around him too, tightening almost possesively. A pleased sound rumbles through them both.


End file.
